I  LIBRARY 

OF 

fIVERSITY 
.LIFORNIA 
.NGELES 


"  vrapsmncr 


BY 

ANNA  BLAKE  MEZQUIDA 


SAN   FRANCISCO: 

MARVIN    CLOYD 

1922 


COPYRIGHT,  1922 
By  ANNA  BLAKE  MEZQUIDA 

SAN  FRANCISCO 


All  rights  reserved  including  that  of 
translation  into  foreign  languages. 


ACKNOWLEDGMENT 


For  permission  to  reprint  the  poems  used 
in  this  volume,  acknowledgment  is  made  of 
the  courtesy  of: 

Good  Housekeeping ;  Munsey's  Mag 
azine;  The  All-Story  Weekly;  Sunset 
Magazine ;  Romance ;  Ridgway  Pub 
lishing  Company;  New  Fiction  Pub 
lishing  Company ;  Laurence  J.  Gomme, 
Publisher,  New  York;  People's  Home 
Journal ;  The  Madrigal,  Poetry  Maga 
zine  ;  Holland's  Magazine ;  The  Pen- 
woman;  The  Wasp;  The  Pacific; 
Queen's  Work;  New  York  Evening 
Mail;  The  Newarker;  San  Francisco 
Examiner ;  San  Francisco  Chronicle ; 
San  Francisco  Call;  San  Francisco 
Bulletin. 

The  title  poem,  "A-Gypsying,"  is  re 
printed  by  permission  from  Sunset 
Magazine.  "The  Four  Winds"  is  re 
printed  from  the  People's  Home  Jour 
nal  by  permission  of  F.  M.  Lupton, 
Pub.,  Inc.  "The  City  of  Heritage," 
prize  poem  in  the  Newark  Anniversary 
Poem  Contest,  is  reprinted  by  permis 
sion  of  The  Newarker  and  the  Com 
mittee  of  One  Hundred. 


To 
MY  MOTHER 


CONTENTS 


Page 

Absence   Road    10 

A-Gypsying    3 

A  Prayer  49-50 

Blind  Man,  The 22-23 

Bridge,  The   61 

Captive,  The   69-70 

Caravans    62-63 

City  of  Heritage,  The 39-40-41-42 

Crossways,  The 5-6 

Cry  of  the  Soul,  The 7 

Dreamers,  The 71 

Drums    43 

Five   Fools,  The 13-14-15-16 

Flower  on  the  Sill,  The 20-21 

Four  Winds,  The 31 

Fog 30 

Gossips,  The   17 

Great  Heart  54-55 

(Continued  on  Next  Page) 


CONTENTS— Continued 

Page 

Harlequin    18 

If  I  Were  Night 59-60 

Inspiration   29 

It  Is  So  Easy  to  Forget 12 

"Like  Ships  That  Pass" 66-67 

Lines  to  an  Invalid 35 

Little  Vanishing  Men,  The 38 

Lonely  House,  The -.  68 

Meaning  of  Love,  The 11 

My  Friend   51 

My  Mother's  Hands 56 

My  Sweetheart  32 

Only  a  Dog 36-37 

People's  Plea,  The 44 

Saint — Sinner   19 

Shadow  Land    52-53 

Shadows    24 

Spinners,  The    64-65 

Stranger,  The   33-34 

(Continued  on  Next  Page) 


CONTENTS— Continued 

Page 

Thinker,  The  8 

Things  We  Love  Best,  The 9 

Those  First  Thanksgivings 48 

Two  Spirits,  The 27-28 

Valley,  The    57-58 

Voices,  The 45-46-47 

Windows    4 

Woman's  Court,  The 25-26 


JUOjqpsqincr 


iupsu 


DAY  after  day  in  my  staid,  drab  home, 
My  life  moves  slowly,  a  placid  thing; 
Only  at  heart  have  I  learned  to  roam 
And  send  my  spirit  a-gypsying. 

Walls  that  enclose  me  are  dull  and  gray, 
But  red  is  the  fire  of  the  Romany  king, 

And  mad  is  the  dance  and  wild  the  play 
Where  my  spirit  goes  a-gypsying. 

Bleak  is  the  vista  and  humdrum  the  street, 
But  I  catch  the  glint  of  a  fairy's  wing, 

And  watch  the  twinkle  of  elfin  feet 
When  my  spirit  goes  a-gypsying. 

Common  the  sounds  of  an  everyday  world, 
But  witching  the  songs  that  free  waters  sing, 

And  gay  are  the  notes  from  the  treetops  hurled 
As  my  spirit  goes  a-gypsying. 

Guarding  my  door  stern  Duty  stands, 
But  the  dream-gates  lie  in  magic  ring 

Through  which  I  pass  to  enchanted  lands 
With  other  souls  gone  a-gypsying. 

[3] 


WINDOWS 

MY  house  has  windows  that  are  wide  and  high ; 
I  never  keep  the  curtains  drawn, 
Lest  I  should  miss  some  glory  of  the  sky, 
Some  splendor  of  the  breaking  dawn. 

My  heart  has  windows ;  the  long  years  have  shown 

That  they  must  never  be  shut  fast, 
Lest  I  should  come  to  find  the  ivy  grown, 

And  warm  Love  cold  and  dead  at  last. 

My  soul  has  windows  where  God's  sun  streams  in ; 

They  never,  never  shuttered  are, 
Lest  their  closed  blinds  hide  in  my  soul  some  sin, 

And  keep  some  lovely  thing  afar. 


[4] 


THE  CROSSWAYS 

THERE  is  a  two-forked  road  leads  from  Today; 
One  path  curls  backward  through  the  sun- 
shot  vale 
Of  Yesteryear;  and  one  path  marks  the  way 

To  forests  unexplored  and  towering  cliffs  where 

trail 

Enshrouding   clouds  and  'fog-wreaths  dank  and 
pale. 

Some  men  there  are  whose  footsteps  fain  would  turn 
Into  the  valley's  well-remembered  shade ; 

They  haunt  once  more  the  mossy  bank  and  fern, 
The  cooling  streams,  the  flowered  hill  and  glade, 
The    little    lanes    through    which    the    sunlight 
played. 

And  there  are  timid  souls  who  dare  not  seek 
Highways  ahead  nor  tread  those  of  the  Past; 

They  fear  the  forest,  shun  that  gray-swathed  peak 
And  jagged  stones  like  those  they  tripped  on  last ; 
The    crossroads,    safe,    wide-spaced,    these    hold 
them  fast. 

But  there  are  some  who  would  adventuring  go — 
Stout  woodsmen,  pioneers  with  axes  bright ; 


[5] 


Staunch  mountain-climbers  searching  out  the  bow 
Of  promise  on  the  rugged,  mist-draped  height ; 
And  women  bearing  torches  through  the  night. 

These  hold  remembrance  dear — yet  not  too  dear ; 
The  Past  is  but  a  fragrance,  not  a  ghost 

Dogging  Today ;  they  see  the  Future  clear : 
The  untried  ways  are  where  God  needs  man  most, 
Hewing   new    paths    for   Truth's   all-conquering 
host. 


[6] 


THE  CRY  OF  THE  SOUL 

YOUR  form  was  cast  in  that  heroic  mold 
Of  some  Norse  viking  famed  in  sagas  old ; 
Your  brain  was  like  a  scintillating  spark 
That  flashes  into  being  in  the  dark; 
Your  heart,  though  it  was  passionate  and  wild, 
Could  suffer  at  the  whimper  of  a  child 
And  feel  the  pain  voiced  in  some  dumb  brute's  cry ; 
But  nobler  far,  and  greater  yet  was  I, 
Your  soul,  in  God's  own  perfect  image  made 
That  you  might  walk  upright  and  unafraid. 
But  you,  in  whom  the  power  for  good  was  born, 
Put  me  to  scorn. 

The  strength  that  in  your  mighty  sinews  lay 

Was  never  spent  to  ease  another's  way; 

Your  brain  for  arts  and  crafts  did  not  suffice — 

You  found  it  but  a  marvelous  device 

To  gain  your  ends ;  your  heart  of  love  and  fire 

Was  made  the  battleground  of  low  desire. 

But  minds  grow  blank;  the  charnal-house  of  lust 

Shall  crumble  to  decay  and  cleave  to  dust ; 

The  twisted,  shapeless  thing  you  made  of  me 

Alone  shall  pass  into  eternity ; 

Yea,  I,  whose  voice  you  silence  and  you  hate, 

I  stand  and  wait. 


[7] 


Upon  seeing  Rodin's  statue 

THE  THINKER 

TIME  was,  he  held  his  brawny  strength  complete 
To  solve  the  weighty  problems  of  mankind, 
Till  bowed  in  bitterness  and  in  defeat, 

The  light  of  truth  flamed  through  his  sleeping 
mind. 

He  saw  the  flowers  creep  up  from  the  sod ; 

He  watched  the  stars  within  their  orbits  swing ; 

He  listened  to  each  wild  and  living  thing; 
And  as  he  marveled — lo,  he  thought  of  God ! 


[8] 


THE  THINGS  WE  LOVE  BEST 

THE  things  we  love  best  are  the  little  things 
That  play  on  the  memory's  slackened  strings: 

A  baby's  shoe,  lopsided  and  scuffed ; 

A  patchwork  quilt  that  is  faded  and  roughed ; 

An  old  rag-doll  that  is  fingered  and  frayed; 

A  tinkly  music-box  loved  hands  played ; 

The  scarred  and  battered  soldiers  of  tin, 

With  bayonets  chipped  and  paint  worn  thin ; 

The  scratches  upon  the  playroom  door; 

The  hammered  dent  in  the  playroom  floor; 

The  little  black  Testament  thumbed  and  worn ; 

The  volume  of  Whittier  penciled  and  torn ; 

The  package  of  letters  yellowed  with  time ; 

The  pudding-bowl  bearing  the  Mother  Goose  rime ; 

The  meerschaum  pipe  in  the  silent  den — 

The  pipe  that  will  never  be  smoked  again. 

Great  costly  paintings  hang  on  my  wall ; 
There's  teakwood  rare  in  the  spacious  hall ; 
White  diamonds  blaze  on  my  idle  hands ; 
Beside  me  a  statue  by  Rodin  stands ; — 
With  these  I  would  willingly,  gladly  part, 
To  keep  those  other  things  close  to  my  heart. 


[9] 


ABSENCE  ROAD 

To  A.  A. 

NO  day  is  endless ;  time  swings  past, 
And  hours  long  waited  come  at  last. 
Though  seas  divided,  all  your  stay, 
I  could  not  feel  you  far  away, 
For  memory  burns  with  deathless  flame, 
And  love  is  love ;  no  boundaries  claim 
The  heart's  desire  and  Thought's  abode ; 
Yet  I,  who  watched  on  Absence  Road, 
The  days  found  long,  and  waiting  drear ; 
But  now  that  you  again  are  near, 
I  only  know  that  God  is  kind ! 


[10] 


THE  MEANING  OF  LOVE 

FLUSH  of  dawn  in  a  dull  gray  sky ; 
Blaze  of  noon  when  the  sun  rides  high ; 
Mystic  calm  of  a  tropic  night; 
Lambent  glow  of  the  northern  light; 
Blossoming  flower  and  budding  tree — 
These  are  the  things  love  means  to  me. 

Sound  of  bells  on  a  Sabbath  morn ; 
Mother's  croon  to  the  newly  born ; 
Children's  laughter  and  song  of  bird; 
Maiden  vow  at  the  altar  heard ; 
Loud  heart-throbs  of  a  slave  set  free — 
These  are  the  things  love  means  to  me. 

Helping  hand  in  an  hour  of  need; 
Tender  word  and  a  kindly  deed ; 
Mind  that  harbors  no  evil  thought; 
Honor  that  pays,  but  cannot  be  bought ; 
Faith  that  bides  through  eternity — 
These  are  the  things  love  means  to  me. 

Calvary's  cross  and  a  thorny  crown ; 
Battles  fought  and  a  foe  cast  down ; 
Paths  traced  out  where  no  way  appears ; 
Rainbows  glimpsed  through  a  vale  of  tears ; 
Haven  of  rest  on  a  stormy  sea — 
These  are  the  things  love  means  to  me ! 

[11] 


IT  IS  SO  EASY  TO  FORGET! 

WE  find  it  easy  to  forget 
Our  careless  word,  our  unkind  thought; 
We  steel  our  hearts  against  regret 

And  think  our  joys  are  not  dear-bought. 

We  like  our  pleasant,  idle  ways ; 

We  like  the  High-road  smooth  and  wide; 
We  laugh  at  the  swift-flying  days; 

Forget  Life's  ever-flooding  tide. 

And  when  the  hour  of  payment  nears, 
We  fight  and  say  we  owe  no  debt ; 

We  beg  for  mercy  with  our  tears ; — 
It  is  so  easy  to  forget ! 


[12] 


THE  FIVE  FOOLS 

"Fools,  because  of  their  transgression,  and  because  of 
their  iniquities,  are  afflicted."   Psalms  cvii:  17. 

FIVE  fools  were  they — though  they  knew  it  not — 
Who  met  at  a  festal  board; 
A  rake  was  there,  a  gambler,  sot, 
A  boss,  and  a  social  polyglot 
Who  fed  his  flocks  on  his  neighbor's  lot 
And  scorned  the  law  of  the  Lord. 


Each  fool  made  Pleasure  his  only  quest, 

With  happiness  at  the  goal ; 
And  each  fool  told,  at  one's  behest, 
The  road  to  travel  he  found  the  best, — 
But  he  reckoned  not  with  the  Unseen  Guest 

And  the  thing  we  call  a  soul. 

The  sot  set  down  his  wine  to  say 

The  road  wound  through  the  cup ; 
The  gambler  wagered  'twas  found  in  play; 
The  rake — he  said  that  Happiness  lay 


[13] 


On  a  woman's  lips  in  the  Great  White  Way 
Before  the  sun  is  up. 

Then  he  in  the  social  hive  a  drone, 

Though  welcomed  by  young  and  old, 
Who  reaped  the  grain  he  had  not  sown, 
And  garnered  the  crops  he  had  not  grown, 
And  crushed  the  weak  for  himself  alone, 
Said  Happiness  lay  in  gold. 

The  King  of  the  Bosses  only  laughed ; 

(He  had  picked  a  nation's  locks !) 
He  jingled  the  coin  he  earned  from  graft, 
And  spat  at  the  flag  the  breezes  waft ; 
"Here's  joy,"  he  said,  "to  make  you  daft, 

Within  the  ballot  box." 

They  went  their  way  and  mocked  at  Sin, 

Though  Happiness  fled  the  more ; 
And  evil  thoughts  came  trooping  in ; — 
They  trampled  their  friends  nor  recked  of  kin, 
And  danced  in  tune  to  the  Devil's  grin, 
And  Self  they  bowed  before. 


[14] 


But  Conscience  saw  and  did  not  forget, 
Though  they  stifled  her  in  the  dark; 
And  Conscience  asked  of  each  his  debt, 
Which  he  had  to  pay — or  is  paying  yet, — 
So  the  road  to  Happiness  proved  Regret, 
And  each  fool  missed  his  mark. 

For  Retribution's  arm  is  long, 

And  strikes  with  a  deadly  ease ; 
So  he  who  laughed  at  a  ribald  song, 
And  made  of  Right  a  jest  for  Wrong, 
And  sneered  at  God  when  the  wine  ran  strong, 

Drained  life  to  the  bitter  lees. 

And  he  who  staked  his  all  on  a  throw 

And  the  sheen  of  a  horse's  mane, 
Whose  money  was  easy  to  come  and  go, 
Whose  wife  slaved  on  with  nothing  to  show, 
At  the  game's  close  came  at  last  to  know 
He  had  played  with  nought  to  gain. 

The  fool  who  held  his  gold  so  dear 
Paid  triple  in  the  end ; 


[15] 


His  gold  was  bright  but  his  house  was  drear, 
Where  Love  lived  not,  but  only  Fear, 
With  Death  in  the  shadows  lurking  near ; 
And  no  man  called  him  friend. 


The  King  of  the  Bosses  won  the  seat 
That  ever  he  most  did  crave ; 
His  foes  with  fraud  and  lies  he  beat, 
But  Victory  sat  on  him  like  Defeat, 
And  oft  he  longed  in  the  battle's  heat 
For  a  soldier's  honored  grave. 

And  he  who  the  primrose  path  had  trod 
Where  the  red  lights  glow  and  burn, 

In  agony  felt  Life's  venging  rod, 

While  the  woman  he  wronged  lay  under  the  sod ; 

Oh,  he  knew  it  then — there  was  a  God 
And  a  law  he  could  not  spurn ! 


[16] 


THE  GOSSIPS 

THE  windows  are  shaded  and  soft  lamps  glow, 
Though  hot  shines  the  sun  on  the  court  below, 
For  the  tea  is  brewed,  and  we  stir  and  sip, 
While  the  gossip  passes  from  lip  to  lip. 

Gossip  of  fashions ;  gossip  of  creeds  ; 
Gossip  of  saints'  and  of  devils'  deeds ; 
Gossip  of  matron  ;  gossip  of  maid  ; 
Gossip  of  bills  that  are  not  yet  paid ; 
Scandal  carelessly,  idly  spread, 
Fang-tonged,  lifting  its  serpent  head ; 
Sinuous  thoughts  that  crawl  and  creep — 
We  set  them  loose  while  the  tea-leaves  steep. 

The  room  grows  stifling,  and  stale  the  air ; 
Outdoors  the  roses  are  blooming  fair ; 
I  wonder  why  one  of  us  cannot  say 
One  lovely  thing  on  this  lovely  day? 


[17] 


HARLEQUIN 


I  GAVE  to  you  laughter — though  I  knew  tears ; 
"Ah,  never,"  you  said,  "was  there  man  more 

gay!" 
I  danced  to  your  piping,  my  little  dears, 

And  you  did  not  see  that  my  world  was  gray. 


[18] 


SAINT 

YOU  called  me  "Saint"  for  you  heard  me  pray 
And  beheld  the  alms  that  I  scattered  wide ; 
You  saw  not  my  brother  who  fell  that  day 
While  I  passed  by  on  the  other  side. 


SINNER 

I    COULD  not  walk  with  your  slow,  sure  feet, 
So   you   called   me   "Sinner,"   and   placed   the 

brand ; 

Yet  I've  found  men  starving,  and  given  them  meat ; 
I  have  seen  men  stumble,  and  held  out  my  hand. 


[19] 


THE  FLOWER  ON  THE  SILL 


WHAT!— flowers  on  the   East   Side?    Yes,  we 
make  them  by  the  ton — 
Eight  hands,  with  mine  and  baby's,  sorting  petals 

one  by  one ! 
We're  making  blue  forget-me-nots  to  earn  our  daily 

bread, 

And  violets  and  roses  till  I  wish  that  I  were  dead ! 
But  I  glance  once  at  the  window,  and  my  angry 

heart  is  still — 

There's  a  real  red  flower  blooming  in  a  can  upon 
the  sill. 


Gay  flowers  of  the  East  Side  that  our  happy  sisters 

wear — 
False,  pretty,  scentless  flowers  that  but  mock  and 

leer  and  stare ! 
How   I   hate  their  silken   petals   and  their  traitor 

hearts  of  gold, 
For  my  boy  is  growing  stunted,  and  my  girl's  a 

woman  old ! 
And  I  fear  my  soul  may  shrivel,  so  I  go  and  drink 

my  fill 
Of  the  fragrance  and  the  beauty  of  the  flower  on 

the  sill. 


120] 


Man's  flowers  of  the  East  Side — it's  our  blood  that 

makes  them  grow ! 
Man's  flowers  of  the  East  Side — oh,  I  wonder  does 

God  know? 
Bides  He  only  with  the  wealthy,  while  we  worship 

but  His  wraith? 
'Mid  these  flowers  of  man's  making  it  is  hard  to 

keep  one's  faith ; 
So  I  creep  close  to  the  window  when   I  ask  my 

Father's  will — 
I  can  pray  when  I  am  kneeling  by  God's  flower  on 

the  sill. 


[21] 


THE  BLIND  MAN 

TWO  men  kept  pace  on  a  city  street ; 
The  first  man  walked  with  swift,  sure  feet; 
The  other  came  with  tapping  stick 
And  outstretched  hand  where  the  crowds  were  thick. 

The  first  man  hurried  and  did  not  see 

A  robin  up  in  a  lonely  tree ; 

But  the  blind  man  heard  the  wild,  sweet  note, 

And  pictured  the  throbbing  scarlet  throat. 

Together  they  passed  a  florist's  shop; 
The  first  man  looked  but  did  not  stop ; 
The  other  stopped,  but  could  not  look, — 
Yet  he  saw  gold  primroses  by  a  brook. 

A  scrubby  cur  came  sidling  by 

With  eager,  gentle,  wistful  eye; 

The  first  man  marked  the  mongrel  breed; 

The  blind  man  saw  a  friend  in  need. 


[22] 


He  raised  his  sightless  eyes  to  the  sky 
And  knew  that  God  kept  watch  on  high ; 
The  other  schemed  to  throttle  a  foe — 
That  God  looked  on,  he  did  not  know. 

Two  men  on  a  city  street  kept  pace ; 
Keen  gray  eyes  shone  from  one  man's  face ; 
The  other  had  only  the  eyes  of  the  mind — 
Yet  this  man  saw,  while  the  first  was  blind ! 


[23] 


SHADOWS 

rT"*HE  night  comes  down  and  shadows  creep; 

They  climb  with  me  the  oaken  stair; 
Across  the  moon  the  gray  bats  sweep, 
And  foul  the  air. 

I  hide  in  bed  and  close  my  eyes ; — 
I  feel  the  shadows  stir  and  crawl ; 

Within  my  room  a  blind  bat  flies 
Against  the  wall. 

And  yet  a  strange  voice  whispers  low: 
Had  I  but  walked  with  lifted  head, 

Had  I  but  turned  and  faced  the  foe, 
They  would  have  fled. 


[24] 


THE  WOMAN'S  COURT 

"X  TO  place  for  a  lady!"  the  court  guard  said. 

1  N  Through  a  sweating  crowd  I  pushed  ahead 
And  found  a  seat  by  the  railing  wide; 
A  touseled  infant  slept  at  my  side ; 
The  air  was  hot  and  heavy  and  dead ; — 
"No  place  for  a  lady !"  the  court  guard  said. 

"Jane  Doe !"  droned  a  voice ;  and  a  hussy  bold, 
With  painted  cheeks  and  hair  too  gold, 
Stepped  brazenly  forth  and  took  her  place 
With  swinging,  panther-like,  easy  grace ; 
As  young  as  Youth  and  as  old  as  Time, 
Wearing  the  baubles  of  sin  and  crime; 
She  bent  on  the  Judge  her  melting  smiles — 
A  woman  of  Babylon's  ancient  wiles. 
"Ninety  days !"  he  said.   She  snarled  at  that ; 
They  bore  her  off  like  a  clawing  cat. 

A  shabby  old  woman,  wrinkled,  frail, 
Moved  f  rightenedly  up  behind  the  rail ; 
She  had  robbed  a  shop  of  some  Crepe  de  Chine 
Because:   "My  gal — she  was  dressed  so  mean 
She  was  shamed  to  go  out  with  her  beau 


[25] 


To  the  chauffeur's  ball  and  the  movie  show." 

The  Judge  passed  sentence  wearily ; 

She  cast  one  pleading  look  at  me ; 

"I  was  never  in  jail !"  I  heard  her  say 

With  trembling  lips,  as  they  led  her  away. 

Came  a  haggard  thing,  loose-lipped  and  white, 

With  shaking  hands  that  betrayed  her  plight ; 

On  her  person  a  dram  of  heroin ; 

On  her  face  the  ravages  of  her  sin ; 

A  clean  face  once ;  a  face  not  bad ; 

The  Judge  looked  at  her  a  little  sad ; 

Her  first  offense — so  he  let  her  go; 

The  fiends  of  dope  were  torturing  her  so ! 

Harpies  and  victims — the  Judge  looked  bored; 
Into  the  courtroom  the  sunlight  poured ; 
I  could  not  breathe  and  I  stumbled  out ; 
In  my  ears  a  laugh  rang  like  a  shout ; 
To  my  soul  I  put  the  question  straight : 
What  part  played  /  in  their  sordid  fate  ? 
What  guilt  was  mine  in  the  lives  they  led? — 
"No  place  for  a  lady !"  the  court  guard  said. 


[26] 


THE  TWO  SPIRITS 

IN  my  soul  the  pagan  spirit 
And  spirit  of  Christ  make  war, 
But  whenever  the  pagan  conquers, 
The  Christ-soul  struggles  more ; 
Yet  at  times  in  wilful  blindness 

I  say  to  the  white  soul :   "Go !" 
And  I  camp  on  the  trail  of  Pleasure, 
And  reck  not  what  I  sow. 

Then  the  wanton  soul  makes  merry 

And  challenges  from  my  eyes, 
And  it  lures  with  a  care-free  laughter, 

And  honor  and  truth  defies; 
And  the  pagan  souls  about  me 

Come  eagerly  to  my  call, 
But  the  sad,  sad  eyes  of  Jesus — 

They  patiently  follow  all ; 

Till  the  shame  of  my  wrong-doing 
Burns  fierce  as  a  white-hot  brand, 

And  I  thrust  the  pagan  from  me, 
And  sturdily  take  my  stand 

By  the  side  of  truth  and  honor, 


[27] 


Till  joy  that  is  all  Divine 
And  the  peace  of  God's  own  making 
Steal  into  this  heart  of  mine. 

In  my  soul  the  pagan  spirit 

And  spirit  of  Christ  make  war ; 
But  the  evil  spirit  weakens 

As  godliness  conquers  more; 
Yet  for  all  my  hard-won  battles, 

I  pity  the  pallid  soul 
That  has  felt  no  need  of  righting, 

Nor  gallantly  sought  the  goal. 


[28] 


INSPIRATION 

A  METEOR  flaming  through  the  night; 
A  quivering  moon-ray  silver-white; 
A  violin's  elusive  strain 
That  softly  merges  joy  and  pain ; 
A  seed  new-sprouted  from  the  sod; 
A  star-trail  winding  up  to  God. 


[29] 


FOG 

~W"OU  are  all  things  to  me — 

1   All  mystery! 
A  silver  harem  veil 
That  hides  dark  eyes 
And  smiles  and  glad  surprise ; 
You  are  a  mist  of  tears — 
The  welling  up  of  sorrow  in  the  heart; 
You  are  a  dull,  gray  cloak  for  fears ; 
And  you  are  mother-wings 
That  cover  all  small  frightened  things 
And  guard  them  in  a  world  apart ; 
You  are  white,  yearning,  gentle  hands 
That  soothing  touch  my  aching  breast 
And  bring  me  rest; 

You  are  the  cool,  sweet  breath  of  Night 
Whispering  all  dream-delight 
To  tired  lands; 
You  are  the  wild,  brave,  free 
Salt-spume  of  the  restless  sea; — 
All  things !   All  mystery ! 


[30] 


THE  FOUR  WINDS 

EAST  WIND — wind  of  all  dawning  hopes, 
Fresh  from  the  haunts  of  the  rising  sun, 
Rollicking  over  the  mountain  slopes, 
Whispering  faith  to  a  day  begun — 
When  wakes  my  Love  with  the  first  bird's  song, 
Brave  Wind  of  the  East  blow  strong,  blow  strong ! 

WEST  WIND — wind  of  a  maiden's  dreams, 
Tinged  with  the  gold  of  a  sunset's  glow, 

Snatching  the  young  moon's  silvery  beams, 
Pacing  the  star-trail  to  and  fro — 

For  her  I  offer  a  lover's  plea: 

Fair  Wind  of  the  West  blow  free,  blow  free ! 

SOUTH  WIND— wind  of  the  heart's  desire, 
Scorching  one's  spirit  with  burning  breath, 

Shaming  the  heat  of  the  desert  fire, 
Bring  new  life  and  heralding  death — 

My  Love  is  only  a  trusting  child ; 

Hot  Wind  of  the  South  blow  mild,  blow  mild ! 

NORTH  WIND— wind  of  the  soul's  defeat, 
Nipping  youth's  vision  with  wintry  blast, 

Riding  the  storm  with  your  snow  and  sleet, 
Mocking  life's  wrecks  all  about  you  cast — 

My  Love  is  frail  for  your  chilling  blight ; 

Harsh  Wind  of  the  North  blow  light,  blow  light ! 

[31] 


MY  SWEETHEART 

OUT  of  the  soul  of  a  pansy, 
A  thought  that  is  sweet  and  true, 
Takes  wing  on  the  breath  of  morning 
To  dwell  all  the  hours  with  you. 

Out  of  the  heart  of  the  ages, 

A  love  that  has  sprung  full-grown 

Pays  homage  to  you,  my  sweetheart, 
As  suppliant  to  a  throne. 


[32] 


THE  STRANGER 

ONE  came  and  stood  beside  my  bed  at  night 
All  sable-clad  and  girt  with  tongues  of  fire ; 
Her  hands  were  scarred  and  on  her  feet  so  white 

There  shone  the  cruel  mark  of  stone  and  brier. 
I  looked,  and  Ease  fled  laughing  from  my  side, 

While  Joy  sprang  back  and  bade  me  let  her  go ; 
"You  shall  not  leave  me  thus,"  I  wildly  cried, 

"With  this  hard-visaged  one  I  do  not  know !" 
But  they,  the  ready-voiced,  were  stricken  dumb, 
And  only  that  sad  stranger  whispered,  "Come!" 

She  led  me  out  into  the  starless  dark 

That  guards  the  dreary  vale  of  wakefulness ; 
At  morn  I  listened  for  the  happy  lark, 

And  heard  the  screams  and  wailings  of  distress. 
Thus  ever  up  and  onward  toiled  we  two, 

Until  it  seemed  my  straining  heart  must  burst; 
I  could  not  pierce  the  endless  forest  through, 

Nor  find  a  stream  at  which  to  slake  my  thirst. 
"Is  it,"  I  moaned,  "to  show  me  God's  great  wrath, 
You  lead  me  ever  up  this  rocky  path?" 

She  answered  not  by  word  or  look  or  sign, 
As  on  she  dragged  me  mile  by  weary  mile ; 

[33] 


But  foes,  long  held  in  hate,  laid  hands  in  mine, 
And  one  I  had  despised  gave  me  a  smile. 

I  caught  a  sobbing  child  up  to  my  breast, — 
The  sorrows  of  the  world  lay  on  my  heart, 

And  lo,  I  stood  upon  the  mountain's  crest 
Just  as  the  sunbeams  tore  the  clouds  apart. 

Dear  God,  I  had  not  seen  Thy  love  so  plain 

Had  I  not  climbed  the  stony  steeps  with  Pain ! 


[34] 


LINES  TO  AN  INVALID 

THINK  not  we  count  you  as  one  tossed  aside, 
A  broken  bit  of  driftwood  on  Life's  shore, 
Your  frailty  is  whiplash  to  our  pride 

Who  in  our  strength  have  not  accomplished  more. 

Poor  fettered  soul !   'Tis  hard  to  see  the  plan 

That   holds  you   back   from   mingling   with   the 
crowd, 

To  fathom  the  great  reason  why  Life's  span 
For  some  is  sunshine  and  for  others  cloud. 

And  yet  there  is  a  law  of  recompense — 

Our  feet,  untrammeled,  are  content  to  plod ; 

You  in  your  travail  scale  the  heights  immense 
And  lithesome  tread  the  starry  paths  of  God. 

Yours  is  the  vision,  yours  the  fertile  brain, 
The  hearing  ears,  the  understanding  heart, 

You  are  the  teachers  of  the  world,  through  pain, 
You  gallant  sufferers  in  your  world  apart! 


[35] 


ONLY  A  DOG 

In  honor  of  all  dogs,  and  in  memory  of 
"Baldy  of  Nome." 

ONLY  a  dog",  you  say,  has  died? 
Only  a  dog1!    Yet  by  my  side 
He  has  patiently  mushed  through  Arctic  snow; 
He  has  galloped  the  hills  where  the  poppies  blow ; 
He  has  crossed  bleak  wastes  on  limping  feet; 
He  has  pattered  along  a  city  street. 

The  gray  wolf's  cunning,  the  shepherd's  heart — 
They  taught  him  how  to  play  his  part ! 
When  the  Northern  winter  shuts  down  fast 
I  have  seen  him  daring  the  icy  blast 
With  a  sled  food-laden  for  men  snow-girt, 
Or  bringing  a  doctor  to  someone  hurt, 
Gallantly  leading  his  racing  pack 
With  never  a  whimper  nor  turning  back ; 
Doing  the  best  that  his  dog-heart  knew — 
To  the  stern  hard  North-law  staunchly  true. 


[36] 


Where  the  Coast  Range  dips  to  the  emerald  sea 

He  has  made  his  bed  'neath  the  pines  with  me ; 

He  has  shared  my  meal  at  a  rough  wood  fire, 

While  his  soft  eyes  fathomed  my  least  desire ; 

With  hackles  rising  and  low-drawn  growl 

He  has  warned  of  marauders  that  lurk  and  prowl ; 

And  when  I  have  longed  for  a  city's  fare, 

He  has  faced  uncomplaining  the  pavements'  glare. 

He  has  been  my  friend  when  I  needed  a  friend, 

Through  lonely  nights  that  seemed  never  to  end; 

Or  mischievous,  gay,  as  a  little  boy, 

He  has  sought  a  share  in  my  meed  of  joy ; 

Fearless,  tireless  and  loyal  till  death, 

Speaking  his  love  with  his  final  breath. 

Last  night,  as  the  moon  dropped  low,  I  prayed 

To  face  my  Master  as  unafraid. 

Only  a  dog,  you  say,  has  died ! 
Only  ...  a  dog. 


[37] 


*T"*HERE  is  an  Indian  legend  still  held  true 
i.       That  has  been  handed  down  from  early  days : 
That  hidden  in  the  mists  and  drops  of  dew, 

In  trees  and  grass  and  tassels  of  the  maize, 
Are  "little  vanishing  men"  who  tell 

The  greater  gods  how  we  poor  mortals  walk 
In  wicked  ways,  or  ways  the  gods  hold  well, 

And  whether  ours  be  good  or  evil  talk. 

When  brother  wrongs  a  brother,  the  gods  know ; — 

The  little  hidden  men  have  seen  and  told ; 
Or  when  a  noble  deed  is  done,  they  go 

And  bear  it  to  the  gods  like  so  much  gold. 
A  legend  old !    A  fancy  quaint  and  queer ! 

Yet  is  there  one  among  us  who  can  say 
There  are  no  little  hidden  men  to  fear? 

No  little  kindly  men  to  watch  today? 

When  we  let  slip  in  anger  some  harsh  word 

That  burns  and  stings,  then  melts  into  the  air, 
Can  we  be  sure  no  other  ears  have  heard  ? 

No  gods  have  wept  because  we  spoke  not  fair? 
Or  when  some  little  tender  deed  of  love 

Like  precious  seed  within  our  heart  has  birth, 
Can  we  not  dream  the  very  stars  above 

Shall  whisper  it  to  far  ends  of  the  earth? 

[38] 


THE  CITY  OF  HERITAGE 

(Prize  Poem,  Newark  Anniversary  Poem  Contest) 

DOWN  where  the  swift  Passaic 
Flows  on  to  the  placid  bay, 
Where  the  marshes  stretch  to  the  restless  sea, 
And  the  green  hills  cling  in  the  mountain's  lee, 
There  the  sad-eyed  Lenni-Lenape 
Unchallenged  held  their  sway. 

Gentlest  of  all  their  neighbors, 

Proud  race  of  the  Delaware, 

They  lived  in  the  land  where  their  fathers  dwelt, 
They  killed  the  game  and  they  cured  the  pelt, 
And  marked  the  blue  in  the  wampum  belt — 

The  purple  and  blue  so  rare. 

When  day  tripped  over  the  meadows 

Fresh  as  a  maiden  trim, 

They  skirted  the  trails  where  the  black  swamps  lie, 
They  notched  the  cedars  to  guide  them  by, 
And  wandered  free  as  the  birds  that  fly 

Beyond  the  river's  rim. 

But  few  were  the  moons  that  silvered 

The  mountain's  hoary  side,   . 
When  over  the  banks  where  the  waters  foam, 


[39] 


Over  the  fields  where  they  loved  to  roam, 
Into  the  heart  of  their  forest  home 
They  watched  the  pale-face  stride. 

Unconquered,  and  loath  to  conquer, 

They  hid  the  arrow  and  bow ; 
The  mat  was  spread  for  the  honored  guest ; 
They  hung  bright  beads  on  the  stranger's  breast, 
And  mutely,  singing,  they  bade  him  rest 

Before  the  camp-fire's  glow. 

The  suns  of  a  hundred  noondays 

Blazed  down  on  river  and  hill, 
And  the  pale-face  walked  in  the  red-man's  land ; 
A  pious,  fearless  and  strong-souled  band, 
For  home  and  for  country  they  took  their  stand, 

And  served  God  with  a  will. 

Where  the  waters  gleamed  in  splendor, 

And  the  meadows  glistened  green, 
They  founded  a  town  with  an  English  name ; 
Their  sternness  shielded  it  like  a  flame, 
And  woe  to  the  creature  of  sloth  or  shame 

Who  dared  let  himself  be  seen ! 

They  founded  the  house  of  learning; 
They  built  them  the  place  of  trade ; 
They  guarded  their  laws  by  the  force  of  might — 

[40] 


The  laws  that  they  held  as  a  free  man's  right; 
And  first  to  pray,  they  were  first  to  fight 
When  foemen  stood  arrayed. 

And  staunch  were  their  children's  children, 

Brave  men  of  a  stalwart  breed, 
Who  fought  for  the  land  where  their  fathers  fought, 
And  kept  the  faith  that  was  dearly  bought, 
That  a  brother-man,  in  the  shackles  caught, 

Forever  might  be  freed. 

And  into  the  growing  city 

Poured  German  and  Celt  and  Scot, 
All  seeking  the  land  of  the  sore-oppressed — 
The  land  that  all  free-born  souls  had  blest, 
And  put  of  their  manhood's  brawny  best 

Into  the  melting  pot. 


The  moccasined  feet  have  padded 

Into  the  silence  vast, 
And  the  smoke-stacks  belch  where  the  camp-fires 

glowed, 

Yet  the  white  man  reaps  what  the  red  man  sowed, 
For  the  friendliness  to  the  stranger  showed 

Shall  live  while  the  town  shall  last. 


[41] 


Unfearing,  true  and  sturdy, 

The  Puritan  left  his  mark ; 
Though  he  sleeps  beneath  the  grassy  sod, 
Though  a  million  feet  o'er  his  bones  have  trod, 
Yet  he  leaves  his  faith  and  his  love  of  God 

To  light  men  through  the  dark. 

The  soldier's  battles  are  over; 

His  deeds  but  a  written  page ! 
Now  the  living  pass  by  his  low  green  tent, 
But  the  patriot  fires  of  a  young  life  spent, 
And  a  country  whole  from  a  country  rent 

He  leaves  to  a  future  age. 

The  toiler  that  strove  and  builded, 

And  into  the  furnace  hurled 
Not  coals  alone,  but  his  hopes  and  dreams, 
Has  lighted  a  beacon  that  ever  gleams, — 
While  ships  that  sail  on  a  hundred  streams 

Shall  bear  his  gifts  to  the  world. 

Then  rise  to  your  heritage,  Newark! 

It  cannot  be  swept  away 
Like  chaff  by  the  sullen  north  winds  blown, 
Or  barren  seed  that  is  lightly  sown, 
For  out  of  the  past  has  the  present  grown — 

The  city  men  love  today ! 

[42] 


DRUMS 

DRUMS  and  flags  and  a  call  to  arms, 
Kisses  of  quick  farewell, 
Quip  and  laughter  for  war's  alarms, 
Scorn  for  a  battle's  hell ! 


Drums  and  bugle  and  marching  feet, 

Music  and  swift  command, 
Thrill  of  joy  at  a  foe's  defeat, 

Love  for  the  native  land ! 

Drums  and  cannon  and  shot  and  thrust, 
Curses  and  war's  hot  breath, 

Hatred  of  brother  and  blood-red  lust, 
Famine,  destruction,  death ! 

Drums,  and  up  in  the  sky  a  cloud; 

Shouts,  and  a  dying  groan ; 
Silence — over  the  earth  a  shroud ; 

Peace,  and  a  long-drawn  moan! 


[43] 


THE  PEOPLE'S  PLEA 

HOW  long  must  men's  wild  passions  rear 
Their  hydra  heads,  and  stupid  Fear 
Hold  thrones  in  thrall  and  men  as  slaves, 
While  armored  ships  ride  on  the  waves, 
And  forts  keep  guard,  and  mailed  hordes  throng,- 
O  Lord  of  Hosts,  how  long,  how  long? 

How  long  must  Honor,  nation-wide, 
Self-nurtured  by  a  foolish  pride 
And  bound  by  pledges  dead  hands  wrote, 
Make  brother  spring  at  brother's  throat, 
While  Glory  waits  upon  the  strong, — 
O  God  of  Life,  how  long,  how  long? 

How  long  must  Progress  shackled  stand 

While  Strife  lays  tribute  on  the  land, 

And  deeds  for  human  betterment 

Fall  to  the  earth  like  bullets  spent, 

And  Right,  blind-eyed,  give  place  to  Wrong, — 

O  Lord  of  Light,  how  long,  how  long? 

How  long  must  fields  of  grain  run  red 
And  yield  their  daily  crop  of  dead, 
And  helpless  women  pay  the  price 
Of  War's  mad,  futile  sacrifice, 
While  nations  chant  their  battle  song, — 
O  God  of  Love,  how  long,  how  long? 

[44] 


THE  VOICES 

A  Paean  of  Peace 

Voices,  voices  everywhere, 
Voices  here  and  voices  there, 

Voices  of  the  earth  and  air 
Crying,  "Peace !" 

weird,  sweet  voices  of  the  silences: 
1  The  hush  that  overtakes  the  cannon's  doom, 
The  soundless  steps  of  Dawn  from  out  the  gloom 
Where   once   the   morning   broke    with   crash   and 

boom. 

The  onward  rush  of  Life,  retreat  of  Death, 
The  pause  as  of  a  nation  taking  breath ; 
The  calm  that  shuts  the  screeching  mouth  of  hell ; 
The  still, 'small  voices  saying,  "All  is  well!" 

The  noisy  voices — voice  of  fife  and  drum, 
The  tramp  where  liberating  armies  come ; 
The  roar  of  factories,  the  ceaseless  drone 
Of  busy  looms  that  man  had  left  alone ; 
The  tumult  in  the  market  places  shrill; 
The  creak  and  thud  of  plows  upon  the  hill ; 


[45] 


The  throb  of  steamers  churning  through  the  waves ; 
The  wild  huzzas  of  men  no  longer  slaves ; 
The  mighty  voice  of  all  Democracy 
Exulting,  "Free !   Free !   Free !" 

The  witching  voice  of  Nature  softly  tuned : 
The  blackened  trees  that  call  the  birds  to  nest 
With  promise  of  green  leaves ;  the  stir  and  quest 
Of  budding  plants  to  heal  Earth's  riven  breast ; 
The  grass,  the  fruit,  the  grain,  the  tasseled  corn 
Crying,  "It  is  our  resurrection  morn !" 
The  silver  drip  of  rain,  the  fall  of  snow 
On  battlefields  where  soldiers  no  more  go ; 
The  crackling  home-fires  burning  warm  and  bright 
On  long-cold  hearths ;  the  merry  lamps  alight ; 
The  sweet-toned  bells — torn  from  a  ravished  shrine 
Of  France  to  merge  into  a  bullet's  whine — 
Across  the  universe  now  sing  and  sing, 
Outclanging  bells  that  in  the  belfries  ring, 
Until  the  world  takes  up  the  glad  refrain 
That  Peace — Peace  has  come  again ! 

And  human  voices,  swelling,  soaring  high, 
One  voice  united  reaching  to  the  sky ! 
The  laughter  of  a  child,  a  woman's  song, 


[46] 


Proclaiming  Right  has  triumphed  over  Wrong; 
The  shouts  of  free  men  breaking  prison  bars ; 
The  loud  Te  Deum  just  beyond  the  stars ; 
And  speaking  unto  lonely  hearts  and  sad, 
The  voices  of  the  living  dead  :   "Be  glad  ! 
Look  up  !   Rejoice !   You  ushered  in  the  day 
When  greed  and  hate  and  madness  pass  away; 
The  glory-day  when  wars  on  earth  shall  cease — 
The  Day !   Man's  day !   God's  day  of  Peace  !" 

Voices,  voices  everywhere, 
Voices  here  and  voices  there, 

Voices  of  the  earth  and  air 
Crying,  "Peace!" 


[47] 


THOSE  FIRST  THANKSGIVINGS 

SHALL  we  not  pause,  as  we  make  holiday, 
To  think  of  those  Novembers  harsh  and  gray 
Our  fathers  spent  on  stern  New  England's  soil? 
They  reckoned  not  the  bitterness  and  toil, 
The  sacrifice,  the  hardships  and  the  strife, 
The  struggle  yet  to  wage  for  home  and  life, 
But  watched  the  bursting  of  the  sterile  sod 
With  shoots  of  green,  and  gave  their  thanks  to  God. 

Shall  we  not  pause  one  moment  on  our  way, 

As  we  make  joyous,  carefree  holiday, 

To  think  of  those  Novembers  long  ago? — 

Of  stony  ground  the  Pilgrims  toiled  to  sow ; 

Of  rivers  bridged ;  of  tangled  forests  cleared 

To  pave  the  way  for  cities  we  have  reared ; 

Of  schools  and  churches  built ;  of  brave  lives  spent 

For  liberty  and  faith  and  high  intent ; — 

Shall  we,  whose  blessings  are  so  richly  poured, 

Forget  to  say  a  simple  "Thank  Thee,  Lord?" 


[48] 


A  PRAYER 

OBabe  the  wise  men  hailed  at  birth, 
Be  with  all  children ;  guard  and  keep 
Thy  little  ones;  and  as  they  sleep, 
Send  blessings  to  the  waifs  of  earth ! 
Yea,  hear  us,  Saviour  of  mankind, 
Thine  elder  children  need  Thy  care — 
Poor  wayward  souls  they  know  not  where 
They  go;  and,  Shepherd,  some  are  blind! 

O  crucified  and  thorn-crowned  King, 
Watch  o'er  the  rulers  of  the  world. 
For  some  must  stand  with  banners  furled, 

And  some  must  hear  the  nations  ring 

With  curses ;  teach  them  wisdom,  Lord ! 
Let  greed  and  madness  pass  away, 
And  hate  no  longer  love  betray, 

While  o'er  men's  souls  Thou  keepest  ward. 

O  Jesus  of  the  nail-torn  hands, 
And  bleeding  feet  and  riven  side, 
Be  with  all  sufferers  far  and  wide — 

Sad  women  mourning  through  the  lands 


For  tortured  sons  and  dear  ones  slain, 
All  those  to  whom  life  says,  "Turn  back !" 
And  those  who  twist  upon  the  wrack 

Of  fevered  nights  and  days  of  pain. 

O  Christ,  Thou  Conquerer  of  death, 
When  swift  and  dark  the  shadows  fall 
In  silent  rooms,  and  that  last  call 

Sounds  clear  upon  the  night-wind's  breath, 

Be  Thou  not  far,  nor  vigil  cease ! 

Thou  comforter,  Thou  power  to  save, 
Thou  mighty  victor  o'er  the  grave, 

To  men  and  nations  grant  Thy  peace ! 


[50] 


MY  FRIEND 

HE  tells  me  there  is  sunshine  in  my  hair 
Like  gold  of  Western  sky  at  daylight's  end, 
Nor  sees  that  other  women  are  more  fair, — 
Because  he  is  my  friend. 

He  overlooks  the  small,  mean  things  I  do, 

Some  thoughtless  word  that  I  can  never  mend ; 

He  holds  his  course  beside  me,  steady,  true, — 
Because  he  is  my  friend. 

He  shares  my  joys ;  in  bitter,  darker  hour 
I  know  that  he  will  come  and  courage  lend, 

His  tenderness  unfolding  like  a  flower, — 
Because  he  is  my  friend. 

He  sees  in  me  all  virtues  rare  and  sweet; 

How  carefully  that  flame  of  love  I  tend ! 
I  could  not  know  more  cruel,  black  defeat 

Than  just  to  lose  my  friend. 


[51] 


SHADOW  LAND 

FRAGRANCE  of  lilacs  dew-sweet  in  the  morn, 
And  budding  roses'  faint  exotic  breath 
From  out  the  heavenly  gardens  swiftly  borne, 
Have  drifted  through  the  barriers  of  death 
And  let  me  dream  we  wander  hand  in  hand, 
As  you  go  plucking  blooms  in  Shadow  Land. 

Last  night  while  listening  to  the  restless  trees 
I  watched  the  lithesome  antics  of  the  spheres — 

A  comet  running  from  the  Pleiades, 

And  Venus  mocking  Mars — till  through  my  tears 

I  saw  you  romping  with  the  starry  band 

In  God's  vast  playground  up  in  Shadow  Land. 

And  yesterday  a  lad's  laugh  ringing  true 
Came  rippling  gaily  down  the  Milky  Way, 

And  by  that  sign,  within  your  arms,  I  knew, 
Were  gathered  all  the  little  souls  that  stray, — 

For  that  great  heart  of  yours  would  still  demand 

To  mother  all  the  babes  in  Shadow  Land. 


[52] 


A  sunbeam  rollicking  across  the  room, 

Where  lay  the  dust  upon  your  vacant  chair, 

Put  swift  to  flight  the  clinging  motes  of  gloom, 
And  whispered  to  my  heart  that  you  were  there 

Like  some  bright  angel  at  my  side  to  stand 

As  I  toil  on  through  this — my  Shadow  Land! 


[53] 


GREAT  HEART 

To  Phoebe  Apperson  Hearst 

YOU  smiling  lived,  and  smiling  went  away ! 
Great  heart,  you  would  be  sad  were  we  to  pay 
In  tears  our  tribute.   We  would  wreathe  your  grave 
With  joy,  and  write  the  happiness  you  gave. 

The  laughter  of  a  little  orphan  lad 
You  lifted  from  the  wayside  and  made  glad ; 
The  girl  you  started  on  the  upward  road ; 
The  toiler  whom  you  helped  to  bear  the  load ; 

The  aching  hearts  that  beat  against  your  breast 
And  found,  in  your  great  understanding,  rest! 
The  luckless  souls  you  dragged  from  misery 
And  set  upon  Life's  highway,  joyous,  free ; 

The  works  you  wrought  in  silence ;  gifts  you  made 
Because  you  loved — not  for  the  world's  parade; 
The  torch  of  learning  that  you  set  alight 
To  blaze  a  way  through  ignorance  and  night ; 


[54] 


The  counsels  that  you  offered,  thoughtful,  wise; 
The  kindliness  that  looked  out  from  your  eyes; 
The  courage  and  the  mighty  power  of  good 
You  taught  to  Youth  by  your  white  womanhood — 

These  pay  you  greater  homage  than  our  tears ; 
These  live  beyond  your  own  brief  span  of  years. 
Dear  friend,  dear  friend,  the  selfless  path  you  trod 
Has  marked  for  us  the  starlit  trail  to  God ! 


[55] 


MY  MOTHER'S  HANDS 

NOT  soft  like  hands  that  never  toil — 
Fair  hands  that  fear  Life's  grime  and  soil, 
But  roughened  hands  that  fall  as  light 
As  snowflakes  drifting  down  the  night. 
Strong  hands — hands  tigress-strong  and  bold, 
Strong  in  defense  and  strong  to  hold ; 
Kind  hands  stretched  out  in  hour  of  need 
To  do  some  little  tender  deed ; 
Calm  hands  that  have  the  power  to  soothe ; 
Cool,  peaceful  hands  that  slowly  move ; 
Unselfish  hands  that  never  know 
Desire  of  grasping ;  that  bestow 
Largess  of  love,  and  give  again, 
Though  giving  shall  be  fraught  with  pain ; 
Dear  hallowed  hands  that  clasp  in  prayer; — 
Hands  that  enfold  me  everywhere ! 


[56] 


THE  VALLEY 

A  HUNDRED  hands  will  snatch  Happiness  up 
And  toss  it  along;  men's  lips  will  sip 
When  Joy  is  the  potion  in  my  cup ; 

By  my  dancing  feet  their  feet  will  trip. 

All  laughing  they  come  to  join  my  play ; 

Their  throats  are  filled  with  the  songs  I  know ; 
They  ride  with  me  on  the  broad  Highway, — 

But  down  in  my  valley  they  may  not  go. 

My  Valley  of  Sorrow  or  Valley  of  Pain, 
Or  Vale  of  the  Shadow  that  winds  away — 

If  tomorrow  the  road  lies  starkly  plain, 
I  have  today ;  oh,  I  have  today ! 

I  can  capture  a  sunbeam  and  hold  it  fast ; 

The  fragrance  of  flowers ;  the  gleam  of  a  star ; 
And  lovely  memories  out  of  the  past 

To  bear  away  to  my  valley  far. 

Today  I  can  answer  an  agonized  cry, 
Or  bend  my  back  to  a  neighbor's  load, 


[57] 


That  I  may  carry  my  shoulders  high, 
And  bravely  step  on  my  rocky  road. 

I  can  play  my  part  in  man's  onward  march : 
There  are  cities  to  build,  and  waters  to  turn 

Into  the  desert's  blighting  parch  ; 

There  is  peace  to  bring  where  hatreds  burn. 

I  can  make  a  child's  glad  laugh  ring  free — 

A  laugh  that  will  rise  to  the  Great  White  Throne ; 

How  sweet  to  carry  its  echo  with  me 
As  I  go  down  to  my  valley  alone ! 


[58] 


IF  I  WERE  NIGHT 

IF  I  were  Night  I  would  spread  my  wings 
Above  all  little  things 
So  tenderly,  so  light, 
That  they  would  never  know  a  fear, 
If  I  were  Night. 

I  would  lay  a  blanket  on  the  violet  beds, 

A  fleecy  blanket  made  of  mist 

Star-kissed ; 

I  would  close  the  eyes  of  pansies  with  a  touch 

Of  mother-fingers ; 

I  would  whisper  with  soft  breezes 

To  budding  trees  that  take  affright 

At  boisterous  winds, 

If  I  were  Night. 

I  would  drop  sweet  coolness  on  the  desert 

For  frail  creatures  small 

That  glide  and  hide 

Beneath  the  cactus  and  the  sagebrush  gray 

Throughout  the  burning,  breathless  day; 

I  would  draw  down  rain  from  out  the  clouds 


[59] 


To  fill  the  tiny  water-hole  again, 

And  save  lost  young  things  from  the  blight, 

If  I  were  Night. 

I  would  steal  across  the  window-sill 

Where  babies  sleep, 

And  hold  them  in  my  arms 

Safe  from  alarms, 

And  rock  them  on  a  moonbeam  silver-white, 

If  I  were  Night. 

I  would  creep  into  the  fold  of  sheep 

And  hunt  small  lambs  that  bleat 

In  shivering  terror  of  fierce  wolves  that  prowl, 

And  point  the  star  that  shone  on  Bethlehem, 

And  put  their  fears  to  flight 

By  telling  them  their  Shepherd  still  keeps  guard,- 

If  I  were  Night. 


[60] 


THE  BRIDGE 

I    BUILD  a  little  bridge  from  day  to  day 
Against  the  hour  the  tides  of  trouble  rise ; 
A  bridge  of  memories  to  span  the  way 

To  fragrant  woods  and  azure,  sunny  skies. 
A  memory  of  love  that  stood  the  test ; 

A  handclasp  given  when  my  heart  was  sore ; 
A  tender,  kindly  deed  that  came  to  rest 

Within  my  house  despite  the  fast-shut  door ; 
And  pictures  painted  with  a  master  brush : 

A  sunset  on  the  bosom  of  the  sea ; 
A  nightingale  that  sang  at  twilight  hush ; 

A  silver  fog ;  an  autumn-tinted  tree ; — 
I  build  a  little  bridge  across  the  mud 
Of  pain  and  grief  against  the  time  of  flood. 


[61] 


CARAVANS 

ACROSS  the  silent  desert  of  my  years 
The  caravans,  rich-laden,  slowly  wind ; 
I  gather  up  their  treasures  with  swift  tears, 
The  memories  of  joys  left  far  behind : 

The  wild  lark's  song  that  pierced  me  through 
The  morning  I  first  walked  with  you, 
When  all  the  world  was  beautiful  and  kind. 


Rare,  lovely  stuffs  from  strange  and  foreign  lands- 
The  cities  where  we  lingered,  you  and  I ; 
Caressingly  I  stretch  my  eager  hands 
To  hold  those  golden  hours  until  I  die : 

One  moonlit  night  in  mad  Stamboul ; 

One  noon  at  India's  sacred  pool ; 
The  day  we  said  to  Paris  gay  good-bye. 

The  precious  gems  of  quiet  hours  at  home — 
The  nights  we  spent  before  the  firelight's  glow, 
I  with  my  needle,  you  with  some  old  tome ; 


[62] 


And  nights  you  sang  me  love-songs  sweet  and  slow ; 

The  long,  long  night  we  fought  with  Death, 

Upon  my  neck  I  felt  your  breath 
As  you  above  the  tiny  crib  bent  low. 

The  frankincense  and  myrrh  of  word  and  deed — 
The  passionate  small  whisperings  apart; 
Your  staunch  defense  in  my  dire  hour  of  need ; 
The  ointment  poured  upon  my  aching  heart ; 

The  kindly  things  you  said  and  did, 

The  little  things  you  shyly  hid ; — 
They  come !  the  caravans  from  out  Life's  mart. 


[63] 


THE  SPINNERS 

I   THOUGHT  I  would  run  where  my  wild  heart 
led;— 

I  did  not  count  on  the  sisters  three, 
Who  sat  with  spindle  and  scissors  and  thread ; — 
Desire  was  the  only  law  to  me. 

I  thought  I  would  take  my  joys  where  I  list ; 

I  said  I  would  wander  reckless  and  free; — 
I  did  not  note  in  the  white  dawn  mist 

The  flashing  hands  of  the  spinners  three. 

I  vowed  I  would  gather  earth's  rubies  and  gold ; 

What  matter  though  others  might  trampled  be ! 
The  world's  rich  treasures  my  hands  should  hold ; — 

The  three  grim  Fates  I  would  not  see. 

But  as  I  was  dancing  one  mad,  sweet  day, 
I  heard  the  scissors  click  warily; 


[64] 


I  saw  Life's  pattern  spread  drably  gray, 
And  hated  each  one  of  the  old  hags  three. 

Yet  they  found  me  a  road  where  the  sunlight  played ; 

They  showed  me  a  child  at  her  mother's  knee ; 
They  taught  my  feet  in  a  brook  to  wade ; 

They  made  me  hark  to  a  bird  in  a  tree. 


[65] 


"LIKE  SHIPS  THAT  PASS" 

BRIGHT  noon ; 
The  rushing  currents  of  a  city  street, 
And  midnight  in  my  soul; 
I  felt  the  bitter  waters  roll 
And  beat. 
And  then  you  passed 

Borne  on  the  waves  like  some  gay  barkentine ; 
You  saw  that  I  was  struggling,  wallowing 
Against  the  tide ; 

You  looked  into  my  eyes  and  smiled — 
A  soft,  warm,  friendly  smile 
That  cried : 

"Godspeed !    Hold  fast !   Keep  on !" 
And  then  the  waters  rolled  between. 
It  was  so  brief  a  while 
You  smiled  at  me ! — 
It  seemed 
Eternity. 

Oh,  I  have  sailed  the  seven  seas  since  then ! 
And  captained  many  ships,  and  men, 
And  touched  at  many  a  port. 
My  bark  has  idled  lotus-days 
In  fragrant  islands  of  the  sun, 

[66] 


And  fought 

Its  way  to  harbor  in  the  marts  of  trade ; 

And  I  have  run 

Against  an  icy  blast  that  flayed 

My  sail  to  tatters. 

I  have  known  joy  and  love  and  life 

And  sorrow  that  was  death ; 

I  have  gone  heavy-laden 

With  rich  stuffs  and  gold, 

And  sailed  with  empty  hold ; 

My  ship  has  rocked  in  soporific  calm, 

And  weathered  gales  that  sent  alarm 

Into  the  stoutest  heart. 

There  was  but  once  I  came  near  foundering : 

That  time  you  passed  in  my  soul's  night 

And  flashed  the  light 

Of  your  warm,  friendly  smile. 

Oh,  such  a  little  while 

The  Passing! 

And  then  the  ocean  flung  us  far; 

But  your  "Godspeed  !"  has  flamed  across  the  sky 

Of  Life, 

A  beacon  like  the  white  North  Star 

To  set  my  compass  by. 


[67] 


THE  LONELY  HOUSE 

WITHIN  my  house  there  are  no  children's  voices ; 
No  patter  of  small  feet; 
No  boisterous  shouts;  no  merry,  treble  laughter; 

No  bedtime  kisses  sweet; 

There  are  no  dolls  and  tops  dropped  in  the  hallway — 
My  house  is  very  neat. 

My  house  is  filled  with  ivories  from  China ; 

Rich  tapestries  from  Spain; 
My  house  is  filled  with  women's  idle  chatter 

Like  dripping  of  soft  rain  ; — 
I  wonder  will  my  neighbor's  little  tow-head 

Come  visit  me  again? 


[68] 


THE  CAPTIVE 

LIKE  some  lone  eagle  brooding  in  his  cage, 
Who   mourns  for  mountain   crags  and  wind 
swept  skies, 
Or  some  gay  cockatoo  who  screams  in  rage 

For  tropic  glades  of  his  lost  Paradise, 
Thus  I,  within  the  circle  drawn  by  Fate, 
Must  mark  my  weary  days  and  yearn  and  wait. 

No  Caesar  gazed  on  many-templed  Rome 
With  larger  hopes  than  I  looked  out  on  life ; 

My  vision  leaped  the  confines  of  my  home — 
That  sordid  scene  of  misery  and  strife — 

And  winged  my  feet  that  they  might  find  the  way 

From  murk  and  darkness  out  into  the  day. 

I  watched  the  world  strain  at  her  swaddling  bands, 
And  laughed  to  think  how  I  should  sway  men's 

thought, 
And  how  the  sore-oppressed  of  many  lands 

Should  gain  through  me  the  freedom  that  they 
sought ; 


[691 


Colossal  deeds  and  vast  heroic  schemes 

I  planned  within  the  magic  realm  of  dreams. 

Today,  from  out  my  window  dimmed  with  smoke, 
The  dull,  drab  vista  of  my  youth  appears ; 

Here  I  have  bent  the  back  to  duty's  yoke, 
And  held  me  to  the  treadmill  all  these  years 

A  captive !  Nay,  my  spirit  heeds  no  bars, 

But  conqueror  still  it  soars  among  the  stars ! 


[70] 


THE  DREAMERS 

AS  children  need  the  fairies,  so  do  we 
Have  need  of  dreamers ;  men  whose  eyes  can  see 
Beyond  the  rocky  road  we  tread  today 
To  wide,  sweet  paths  where  roses  line  the  way ; 
Beyond  the  prairie  and  the  barren  plain 
To  harvest  time  and  ripened  fields  of  grain ; 
Beyond  the  furnace's  mad  roar  and  glare 
To  rivers  spanned  and  cities  rising  fair ; 
Beyond  the  little  sordid  things  of  life, 
Beyond  the  meannesses,  the  hate  and  strife, 
To  deeds  of  faith  and  love  and  high  intent, 
And  gallant,  brave  young  lives  in  service  spent ; 
The  dreamers — who  can  look  up  from  the  sod 
And  see  beyond  the  farthest  star  to  God ! 


[71] 


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